


points system

by preromantics



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Making Out, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a points system to this whole seduction thing, Stiles just hasn't figured out all the details to how it works yet. / <i>Stiles knows blurting things out in the middle of what could possibly be a life or death sort of situation is on absolutely no one's list of seduction techniques.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	points system

**Author's Note:**

> Quick and silly banter fic for an anon prompt: _Stiles getting off on Derek being protective._ Featuring less actual getting off than intended. \o?

Admittedly, and hey, points toward Stiles' awesome slow-moving seduction plan for admitting it, Stiles knows blurting things out in the middle of what could possibly be a life or death sort of situation is on absolutely no one's list of seduction techniques. 

Derek's hand comes out to slam Stiles back against the wall just in time to stop a bullet from braining him against the side of the school. It hits Derek instead, and Derek slumps against the wall next to Stiles, bullet falling to the ground with a little clatter as Derek's arm heals and pushes it back out.

"Oh god," Stiles groans, breathless from impact and uh, danger, with Derek's arm still flung over his chest, gripping at his shirt, "you -- how -- shit, you are so  _strong_ . Wow."

Compliments are totally on someone's list of seduction techniques, though, so if Stiles is using some sort of Cosmo-based points system (a score in the 4-6 range equalling  _You're Getting There, Girl!)_ he's at least not failing completely at his seduction plan. 

Derek's fingers twist briefly in Stiles' shirt before his hand drops entirely. "Get the car ready," Derek says, all low and gruff, suddenly all up in Stiles' space against the wall, pressing his keys into Stiles' hand.

"What? Wait, you're giving me the keys to  _your_  car?" Stiles knows he should probably be booking it to the parking lot, staying ahead of the not-dying agenda, because dying wasn't the plan for tonight. Except Derek is giving him the keys to his car. (The plan for tonight was to get away from everyone else for a little while under the guise of checking out something he pretended was suspicious at the school, because Stiles could tell Derek was two seconds from breaking someone's arm for fun and Stiles wanted give Derek a reason to get out, and if they ended up making out in Derek's camaro, well -- Stiles would've been on track with his seduction.)

There's a shot over their heads and Derek lets out an aggressive noise that makes the hair on Stiles' arms stand up. Derek leans closer to him, pressing in so he has to talk against Stiles' ear. "Don't call anyone, I don't need them all coming out."

"Got it," Stiles says, closing his fingers around Derek's keys. Derek's head dips in briefly, nose catching along Stiles' jaw on a quick breath, like he's steadying himself, and then he's pressing back off the wall, crouching down to jump.

"If I'm not there in five minutes, leave without me," Derek says. "Don't do anything stupid."

" _That's_ stupid," Stiles says, but Derek is already halfway toward the guy shooting at them.

Stiles takes a tiny second to lean back against the wall and catch his breath. He's not exactly sure when gunfire stopped being able to scare him out of getting turned on, but it definitely happened between now and the last time he was getting shot at. 

He runs the long way around the school to get back to the parking lot; stress running on adrenaline is not the best time to attempt fence climbing or jumping, he's found. Last time he'd gotten tangled upside-down by his pants-leg and Isaac and Erica hadn't let him live it down for weeks.  

Taking the long way, all of forty seconds longer, means Derek is leaning against the driver's side of his car by the time Stiles gets there. 

"That was anticlimactic," Stiles calls out when he sees. 

Derek shrugs. In the lone flickering parking lot light, Stiles can see his shirt is splattered with more blood than before. It's typical Saturday night fare, by now, but Stiles still cringes a little, deciding as he walks up not to ask for the gruesome details this time around.

"Keys," Derek says, holding out a hand when Stiles gets closer. 

Stiles almost forgot about the promise of the keys in his hand. Derek was, for at least a few minutes, trusting him to play getaway driver in his camaro. In the front seat and with the keys and everything. Not that Stiles doesn't love his jeep, but what his baby doesn't know won't hurt her if he just drives Derek's car once.

"No way," Stiles says, testing his luck by dangling the keys from his fingers. "How do I know you aren't all high on post-kill adrenaline? It can't be safe to drive that way."

Derek doesn't snatch the keys from him, even though it would only take a second for him to do so. Stiles counts that as a win and grins. 

"I didn't kill him," Derek says, after a second. He's still leaning against the driver's side door, blocking Stiles from actually getting in and driving. "He'll probably live." Derek doesn't seem too torn up about it, either way, and Stiles finds himself fine with that after all the surprise shooting.

"Not sure where the line on probable death is, but better be safe than sorry, right?" Stiles says.

"No," Derek says, and there's a brief staring contest that Stiles tries (and, as usual, fails) not to be the tiniest turned on by, but Derek breaks first (not usual) and Stiles, by default, wins.

He's so wrapped up in the stare down he almost forgets what the prize is, but then Derek is stepping away from his car with his shoulders hunched over and walking around to the other side, leaving

"Wait," Stiles says, even though he's already got one leg in the door and Derek is already sitting in the passenger seat, looking immensely uncomfortable about it. "Wait, is this a trick?"

"Tell anyone about this and you'll wish didn't," Derek says. "And we're stopping a few streets before we get back and switching. And you're not allowed to even suggest picking up fast food."

Stiles plops heavily down into the driver's seat and shoots Derek a wide grin. He should get some sort of bonus points in his seduction plan for this, despite the fact he has done nothing but win a staring contest post-life or death situation. He's basically Derek's favorite. That's how things like this work.

"Not even fries?" he asks. "We almost died, Derek, that calls for midnight french fries at least."

"You almost died," Derek clarifies, needlessly. "So, no."

Stiles starts up the car, revs the engine just enough to watch the pinched expression Derek gets. "I wasn't close to dying," Stiles says, negating his own point, but oh well. "You're the only one that took a bullet."

"For you," Derek says.

Stiles has nothing to say to that particular clarification. He pulls the car out onto the street, instead. 

It's kind of awesome. It feels like nothing to step on the gas and bring the speed up and the white-noise sound of the road outside the car is nothing like the crunch and rumble of Stiles' jeep. Shit, Stiles might even be a little turned on by Derek's  _car._ He'd actually probably have a better chance employing his plan of seduction on the car.

"Don't drive so fast," Derek says, hands pressing so hard into the dashboard Stiles is pretty sure he might actually break it, which would suck because he'd definitely backwards-blame Stiles.

Stiles rolls his eyes, pulling off the gas just a little. He may have gotten distracted and gone up to seventy on a fifty-five, but that's the car's fault. "You drive way faster than this. At least let me make the most of this."

"Because I know I'm not going to run into anything and get killed," Derek says, hands falling against his thighs instead of the dash. 

"I'm not going to crash," Stiles says. He slows down a little bit more, coming up on a regularly patrolled intersection. "I've never intentionally crashed my jeep into anything, give me some credit."

"Intentionally," Derek repeats, lowly, and huffs out a breath from his nose that makes Stiles want to laugh. 

Instead of laughing, though, Stiles tries and fails not to get distracted by the spread of Derek's hands rubbing anxiously up and down his own thighs.

So it's not really Stiles' fault when they almost swerve off the road.

"Fuck, Stiles," Derek says, leaning over and grabbing the wheel over Stiles' hands, swinging them back, even though Stiles has it under control. 

"I've got it," Stiles says, heart pounding hard enough to prove otherwise. "I was just proving a point."

"If you die," Derek says, trailing off in a ridiculously ominous way, like he made any sense in the first place. 

"I'll be sure to haunt you," Stiles finishes for him.

He drives carefully for the next few minutes, anyway, taking a side road out of town instead of through downtown to the warehouse just to get the most out of his driving time. Derek gives him a look for it, but Stiles stays pokerfaced.

"I should be our official getaway driver," Stiles says to fill up the silence. "You should just make me an extra key to your car, speed things up."

"We don't all fit in the car," Derek says.

Stiles grins, not expecting any response. "You could get some sort of practical but sporty minivan instead," Stiles says. "To play soccer mom to your pack."

"Don't push it," Derek says.

"You love it," Stiles shoots back. The back way around town is pretty long, so Stiles slows down a little more, enjoying it. It's definitely a good time to try and employ one of the bullet points on his seduction list, Stiles realizes, so he stays silent in favor of going over the finer options in his head. 

Going over the list in his head leads to thinking about something actually working out, and Stiles gets distracted by how well the leather of the driver's seat fits against his back, how good it would feel to be pressed harder against it, Derek boxing him in, pressed all up against him because there would be no space between his body and the wheel --

"Pull over here," Derek says, a little down the next road Stiles turns distractedly onto at the last minute.

"Come on, we're five minutes away, you can wait a few more streets," Stiles says. His brain is still in overdrive, jumping around like a Wikipedia link-clicking black hole but in real time, flashes of everything he and Derek could be doing in the car, right now, distracting him entirely. Not like they hadn't on the drive to the school, but the tiny rush of being allowed to drive makes them ten times worse, imagining everything else he'd like to be allowed to do.

"Now," Derek says, more a growl than anything.

Stiles pulls off to the side and slams on the brakes, groaning involuntarily.

"You can't just -- just get all growly and demanding in an enclosed space," Stiles says, bouncing back against the seat, a little breathless. From the slamming on the breaks. Yes, that.

Derek huffs out a very short laugh. "Why? Because it turns you on?"

"Yes," Stiles agrees, automatic. Except, " _What?"_

Derek looks at him and rolls his eyes, slowly. In slow-you're-an-idiot-Stiles-motion. Stiles is definitely missing something, probably part of his brain.

Derek holds up five fingers and Stiles feels sort of out of focus when he watches Derek wave them. "The moment I agreed to drive to the school with you," Derek says, one finger folding down, "the drive here," another finger, "the first loop around the school fields, my hand on your back when I realized someone else was there, the  _wall,_ jesus, Stiles, we were being shot at."

Derek raises his other hand when Stiles doesn't say anything and looks between it and Stiles. "Should I continue?"

"Are you," Stiles manages after a failed attempt consisting only of gurgling vowels, "listing times I've been turned on tonight? Because you're missing  _so_ many, even just up until that point."

Derek drops his hands and looks up at the roof of the car. "I don't even know why," he starts, but trails off, hands back to rubbing up and down his thighs, and fuck, that's distracting.

"Come here," Derek says.

"Come where?" Stiles asks, already unbuckling. He'll totally come anywhere and anytime Derek asks, if that's on the table. 

Derek groans, low and just a little different from his usual groan. Stiles may have said that last part out loud.

"I have no idea how to get closer," Stiles says, twisting a little in his seat, because he doesn't even really know what Derek means but he wants to comply. 

Derek solves his problem, reaching over and  _pulling_ until Stiles hits his head on the passenger side window and ends up sideways on Derek's lap, kneeing Derek in the stomach in the process of trying to get himself facing forward, the spread of Derek's hands over his ribs shifting with him.

"What," Stiles says, as settled as he can get on Derek's  _lap_ in the tiny space the camaro allows. 

"You knew I had to get away from everyone tonight," Derek says, speaking in a measured way that sounds ten times calmer than Stiles feels.

"It was obvious," Stiles says, when Derek seems to want an answer. 

Derek nods, just slightly, hands sliding down Stiles' thighs. "It was obvious to you."

Stiles nods back. His mouth might be a little open. He doesn't care that much. 

"You realized it was obvious I needed to get out and unwind a little and come back with a clearer head," Derek says, pausing to wait for Stiles to agree again.

Stiles already knows this. He thought about it first and everything, which Derek obviously knows, but he nods again, going along with it.

"I don't think your plan turned out to be very stress relieving," Derek says, measured tone turning less so, and he leans in at the end to drag the side of his cheek against Stiles' neck, prickly against the skin there.

"With the bullets and the possible murdering, yeah," Stiles agrees. 

"Really unhelpful," Derek says, low and pressed against Stiles' jaw, lips barely brushing against Stiles' skin. 

"Derek," Stiles says, tilting his head back for more, shit. 

"I thought of a way that you could help me unwind," Derek says, lips dragging up, pausing at the corner of Stiles' mouth.

Stiles turns into them and a surprised noise rumbles out somewhere underneath him, Derek's mouth opening up against his own in some semblance of a kiss, open-mouthed around Stiles' groan.

"This way," Derek says, leaning back only to dart back in again, arms wrapping fully around Stiles' back, pulling him closer, "is better."

"Way easier," Stiles agrees, digging his fingers into Derek's shoulders to pull himself closer, dragging his hands up to the back of Derek's head to pull it back, angle the slick crush of their mouths together to a better slide. "Way less hassle."

Derek actually groans when Stiles tugs at his hair to get the angle better and Stiles presses himself more fully into Derek's lap, rolling with the way Derek's hips meet his own. Stiles awards himself the rest of the points in the universe for seduction techniques, skyrocking past  _You Got This, Girlfriend_  in the Cosmo quiz terms he was previously using as a seduction technique basis (which he never even had to use because just being himself, hopelessly turned on during non-sexual situations, worked just fine, take that, points system).

Underneath him, Derek's thighs spread out to the edges of the seat, enough that Stiles can settle in more comfortably between his legs, can lean back against the dash when Derek presses up with his hands sliding down to grip Stiles' ass, to get at the dip of Stiles' collarbone with his mouth. Stiles is definitely for this way of helping Derek unwind, fake-suspicious school ground patrolling and accidental almost dying foreplay not included. 

"This is --"

"So much better," Derek finishes for him, nipping with dull teeth against his skin, hard enough to leave a mark above where Stiles' shirt collar is, and oh, he'll have to cover it when he gets home but not when they get back to the warehouse and everyone else. "You should trust my plans more often, Stiles."

"I didn't even know you had a plan," Stiles says. Tries to say, at least, manages most around a low groan when Derek slides them both away from the dash and back against the seat to kiss him properly again. 

"I did," Derek says. "It involved less talking, though."

"Got it," Stiles says, rolling his hips down because he definitely gets it.

So maybe the points should go to Derek, Stiles doesn't really know or care how it works anymore, only that he is utterly and fully seduced, and someone should get the credit in the end. Really, Derek can have all the points, as long as he keeps up the rhythmic rolling of his hips.


End file.
